


Spiral

by svecounia



Category: Koozå - Cirque du Soleil
Genre: Gen, Origin Story, Time is a flat circle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24155965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svecounia/pseuds/svecounia
Summary: An end is its beginning is its end, ever and onward and always. A Trickster and Innocent origin story, inexorably linked.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Spiral

The Trickster stepped aside when the king dissolved into tears, unwilling to be folded into the embrace of the two jesters cleaving themselves to their grieving monarch. He straightened the lapels of his suit jacket and let the three of them get on with their collective racket - it was a bit much considering they'd been through this countless times before. They never remembered. The Trickster did, and he might have borne the weight of the memories like a burden if he hadn’t grown so accustomed to casting them aside.

There had been more before, and there would be more to come. 

“How can you not care?” the king sobbed, pulling a handkerchief from his sleeve and punctuating the question with a deafening blow of his nose. One of the jesters snatched it out of his hands and used it to dab his eyes. “I don’t understand, you were his favorite!”

“There are a million more like him,” the Trickster said blandly.

“Liar,” the king managed before the three of them collapsed into a mourning heap.

Yes and no. Maybe not a million. Maybe just the same one over and over and over, sometimes with a different face, often with different experiences, and always just shy of ready to be completely swept away. And every time the Innocent was the one and only in the eyes of the rest of their world. The single, solitary new thing to enter their realm since the entirety of their existence. But Koozin were generally simple beings. The Trickster had made them that way on purpose: archetypes designed to fit like perfectly aligned gears or clash like mismatched cogs. So of course when they were faced with something as tangible and real as an Innocent, they all but lost their minds. They scurried and scrambled to show off, excitement vibrating just beneath the veneer of grace, drawn by a force they couldn't name. Their world exploded with sound and color again as though it had just burst to life. 

The Trickster could name that force, but he never did. He was content to lead the dance for as long as he could, guided by the same pull that compelled the king down from his throne, Kashmir down from her trapeze, the dog from his bed, and Heimloss from his wiry underground lair. They knitted together, drew apart when the Innocent inevitably left, and before long the Trickster was enclosed in darkness again to await the next delivery.

“How did you know where to find me?” one of the calmer Innocents asked. He was older than the usual, he’d seen more of the world, and no matter the wonders the Trickster showed him the thing he loved most was sitting at the top of the bataclan, legs swinging in the open air below as they looked out over the world. “Was it random chance?”

The Trickster smiled and watched the Innocent turn his baton over in his hands. “No. It was fate.”

“It feels that way,” the Innocent agreed. The Trickster turned with a jerk, alert all at once. But watching the Innocent stare out at the expanse beyond, the feeling faded. Not this time. He’d be gone like the rest, and sure enough, soon he was. Innocents always had one foot in Kooza and the other in the real world, and the Trickster’s magic wasn’t strong enough to hold them for long. Even if it were, he wouldn’t. 

“Come with me,” another urged him even as the curtains began to fold around him. He held out his hand as though it would be the easiest thing in the world, unaware that in doing so he asked the Trickster to reach across the laws of time and fracture magic so deep that he didn’t dare consider it. The Trickster actually stumbled back in alarm, and the curtains closed on the Innocent’s stricken face. 

It took a moment for the Trickster to recompose himself. The right answer was so close a twin to its opposite. The Koozin forgot that Innocent quickly, but the Trickster ruminated on him for weeks. He trudged through his newly dim world. The air hung thick and heavy. 

And then the box closed him in again. 

Over and over he retraced the steps in his own dance. And he never regretted a single repetition, no matter how detached he had to become in order to keep dodging his own disappointment. Not even his favorite Innocent, who'd arrived with a kite and left with a crown and whom he missed more than any other. The Trickster conjured a new crown for the king later, interested to see if he ever gave it away again. He didn't. 

But the latest one gave him pause, a tug in his chest he couldn't ignore, and the Trickster leaned close to frown into his face. It wasn't how he typically liked to open – he preferred an electric burst, some shock to make the Innocent ignore the transition between worlds. But there was something about this one. He tapped his baton against his hand, considering.

To his surprise, the Innocent's expression matched his own. He studied the Trickster right back, steady and skeptical, until his gaze shifted to the baton in the Trickster's hands. His face lit up.

"Oh, that's right." He grinned. "I know you."

Worlds snapped together like lenses over a telescope. Timelines pulled taut and distinct. The Trickster gripped the Innocent's face in his hands and let out a laugh of disbelief as the world spun away from them, lost to a rush of color and sound, until all he could perceive was the flood of memories they'd shared, over and over and over, an endless looping spiral.

"You remembered." It was all the Trickster could say through a relief so complete that he feared it might tear him in two. He hugged the Innocent close. "You remembered."

The Innocent laughed. "Of course I did. How long have you been waiting?"

The Trickster didn't answer – he couldn't have if he wanted to. His vision was blurring either from tears or the wavering world, and he was taken by a heaviness he'd put off for so long. The wind was tugging at his coattails. He closed the Innocent's hands over his baton. 

"Take it."

There was no hesitation there, none of the apprehension or curiosity that had marked every other past version of himself. "What do I do with it?" the Innocent asked. His eyes were alight with determination. The Trickster let out a choked laugh and laid a hand atop his head. 

"You find me again."

He gave himself over to the wind. It carried him away, away from his world, from his creations, those glittering beings of metal and flame and light. He wondered briefly whether he would miss them. But as the curtains began to close around him, the memories were already fading – a dog, a king, an army, a woman. A boy. It all smeared together like paint spread across a canvas, all chimed like a chorus of countless jester's bells. 

The Innocent bowed to him. The curtains closed. 

The world went dark. 

The Trickster awoke in his box.

**Author's Note:**

> At least two years ago I received a two-fold anonymous prompt on Tumblr: "one last goodbye / the boy that straddles everything." I was immediately taken by the imagery and the distance it implied but never strung together a story to do it justice. I hope whoever gave me that prompt finds this one day. I didn't forget you!


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